


how deep is your love

by thundersquall



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Regency, Arranged Marriage, Face-Sitting, Gay Porn Hard, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Multiple Orgasms, Nobility, Pregnancy Kink, Rimming, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 07:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10680447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundersquall/pseuds/thundersquall
Summary: "Call me Jonny," Lord Toews says."I'm sorry?" Patrick says, startled enough that he looks up. Lord Toews is smiling down at him."Call me Jonny," he repeats. "If we're to be betrothed, I can't have you addressing me in such a formal manner."





	how deep is your love

**Author's Note:**

> here's my offering to the hockey gods for [gay porn hard 2017](http://the4freedoms.tumblr.com/post/159721657781/gay-porn-hard-ii-gay-porn-harder) \- may this bring our boys all the good luck!
> 
>  **warning: very underaged, plus a 7-year age difference.** (although patrick does not have sex with jonny until he's 16, which is a little more palatable, i suppose?)
> 
> a million thanks to heartstrings, nuuclears, MajaLi and elricity for all the cheerleading! this is for you guys <3

Patrick's thirteen when he meets Jonny for the first time.

He's all dressed up in a cream suit, his curls pomaded, and powder rubbed on his face to conceal his teenage acne. It's uncomfortable and he keeps plucking at the material of his heavy suit until one of the maids tells him to stop it or he'll pull the fabric out of shape; but he keeps quiet and does as he's told, waiting for his mother to call him down to the drawing room.

He knows how important this match is to his family - the Kane name is noble but poor, and Patrick's not supposed to know, but the servants gossip enough in his hearing that he understands their money's running out. He's the only omega in his family and thus his parents' only hope for making a favourable match to someone with a title and hopefully, money and estates.

Jonathan Toews, the 19th duke of Manitoba, is possibly the very best match his parents could hope to get. He's not that much older than Patrick - only twenty, and he's _rich_ ; Patrick's heard enough talk about his many estates that stretch to England and France to know that. He's never seen him, of course, but surely he can't be any worse than some of the other men he's been presented to - the fat Italian count in his fifties, for one, who leered at Patrick throughout the entire meeting, with his parents right there in the room.

Truth be told, Patrick has no idea why Lord Toews is looking for such a young mate - or more specifically, how his parents even managed to get him to agree to meeting Patrick. Someone of his station ought to be marrying an omega prince or princess - Patrick's father can barely be considered noble.

He's ruminating on these things, kicking his feet idly, when the door opens and their old butler enters. "Your mother's calling for you, Patrick."

Patrick swallows hard and gets to his feet. He clenches his fists against his thighs, trying to stop his hands trembling. "I'm coming now," he says.

\---

Lord Toews is - he's handsome, is the first thought that flashes through Patrick's mind. He's sitting in the best armchair, legs crossed languidly at the ankles, and his skin is dark gold, as if he's just returned from long travels in better, brighter climes.

He's in conversation with Patrick's father, but he looks up when Patrick's announced and shown into the drawing room; his eyes are onyx dark, and his dark hair falls in a perfect, casual curl over his forehead. Patrick's immediately conscious of his own wild curly hair, and clenches his hands into fists again so he won't run them through his hair and mess up the pomade.

"Patrick," his mother says, "this is Lord Jonathan Toews, Duke of Manitoba. Greet him."

Patrick lowers his head and curtsies prettily, like he's been taught. "Your Grace," he says; and when he lifts his head again, Lord Toews is looking directly at him, eyes intense and searching. It makes Patrick blink and take a step back, because - alpha. He's never, ever met an alpha who has that effect on him - the way his entire body seizes up in goosebumps, how the pull to go to his knees and bow before him is so strong that Patrick takes his seat beside his mother before he's told to sit down.

Lord Toews doesn't seem to mind, though; he's still staring at Patrick like he's - like he's considering Patrick's suitability as a mate. It's overwhelming, so Patrick drops his gaze to his hands, folded nicely in his lap. He can still feel Lord Toews' gaze on him, even so.

His father clears his throat. "As you can no doubt tell, my lord, Patrick's just presented, and he is still very young. We're hopeful for a longer courtship and betrothal, as we wouldn't like him to be married at thirteen - but as you know, most of those who are searching for a suitable mate aren't willing to wait that long."

Patrick can feel his face flaming red at his father's words. Could he have made it any more obvious that he's desperate to marry Patrick off, the way he's bringing up betrothal right away?

Lord Toews doesn't say anything for the longest time, until Patrick's starting to fidget; he glances up through his lashes at where Lord Toews is, just a peek, and has to lower his eyes in a hurry when he realises that Lord Toews is still looking him over.

But then he finally speaks; and his voice is smooth and deep, and exactly as Patrick had imagined he'd sound. "I'd like to take a walk with Patrick in your gardens, if you'd allow that. It's nice out today."

Well, that was not at all what Patrick was expecting.

He expects his parents to turn him down - it's not normally allowed for an adult alpha and a young omega to be together without a chaperone - but his father says right away, "Of course, my lord", and yes, he's certainly desperate for this match.

Patrick's mother gives him a little nudge; he stands up, trembling, and looks up at Lord Toews - up and _up_ , because he's _so tall_. He's so much taller and bigger than Patrick, and so intimidating. 

"Go," his mother says quietly behind him, and he makes himself move, to lead Lord Toews out into their garden.

\---

For all his seriousness and intensity, Lord Toews seems to relax once they're out in the sun. Patrick expects them to walk silently and for himself to be subject to that intense scrutiny again; but instead, Lord Toews holds out his arm, and actually smiles down at him. 

Patrick stares at him dumbly.

"Take my arm as we walk," Lord Toews says patiently, but Patrick can feel that he's not looking for a refusal.

His hand is shaking as he tucks his arm into the crook of Lord Toews' elbow. This close, he can catch his scent - the smell of a forest covered in frost, sharp and clear, but overlaid with a dark, spicy scent like hot chocolate with cinnamon, and it's just - so much. He's never had an alpha other than his father so close to him, his scent enveloping him like this, and to his horror he can feel the first hint of wetness beginning in his pants. 

Patrick's been getting wet at the most inopportune moments since he presented as an omega two months ago, but this - in front of an alpha, a powerful duke - is mortifying. And if he can smell Lord Toews, Lord Toews can most certainly smell him; and they're alone in the gardens apart from the birds in the air, and who knows what he could do to Patrick?

He tries to keep his breathing regular, but he can't look directly at Lord Toews. When they start walking, Lord Toews remarks, "You're shaking."

"I'm sorry, my lord," Patrick whispers, as they pass a row of rose bushes. His mother loves roses - their gardener cuts a fresh stalk every morning, for the vase in her bedroom. But he can't think to admire their fragrance and beauty now - his family's depending on him, and he can't even put on a good performance for the duke.

"Call me Jonny," Lord Toews says.

"I'm sorry?" Patrick says, startled enough that he looks up. Lord Toews is smiling down at him.

"Call me Jonny," he repeats. "If we're to be betrothed, I can't have you addressing me in such a formal manner."

Patrick promptly trips over a loose rock in the path; and he would have fallen if his arm hadn't been tucked securely into Lord Toews'. But Jonny spins around, faster than Patrick could imagine, and wraps an arm around his waist, holding him steady and pressing him into his chest.

"Are you all right?" he asks as he looses his hold. He kicks the rock out of the way - and then, to Patrick's shock, he goes down on one knee, right there on the path, in front of him, a lowly omega with no station; and runs his hands down Patrick's ankle and over his foot.

Patrick can't take it anymore - he puts his face in his hands and pants hard into the cup of his palms, willing himself not to yell, or cry, or worse - gush a flood of wetness into his pants, in front of Lord Toews.

The next thing he knows, Lord Toews is tugging his hands away from his face, gently tucking his arm back into his, and _apologising_. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to be so forward, or scare you. Forgive me, please."

Patrick's still breathing hard, but the duke asking Patrick for forgiveness - when Patrick's the rude, clumsy one without a title here - it's enough for him to say, "No, please, I'm all right. It's all right."

Lord Toews looks at him for a moment, and then he shakes his head. "No, you're probably overwhelmed. I'm sorry, I ought to have - I forget you're still so young." He sighs, and then adds, "Let's go back now."

Cold terror fills Patrick immediately. He knows: that's the end, the meeting's done - and he's ruined it. He'll never see Lord Toews again, he'll end up being married off to some old pervert, and his life is all over - 

Patrick's thinking so hard on the walk back to the house, shaking with terror, that he forgets to even curtsy to Lord Toews when his parents dismiss him and send him back up to his room. But it doesn't matter anyway, because he's ruined it, the best match he could have had for himself and his parents.

He's sobbing into his pillow when his mother comes up an hour later. She's beaming, but her smile falls as she sees Patrick crumpled on his bed. "Patrick, what's wrong?" she asks in alarm, hurrying over to him and gathering him into her arms.

"Because I - I ruined it, I'm sorry," Patrick stammers through his tears.

"Ruined what?"

"My match with Lord Toews. I was clumsy, and fearful, and I - I made a mess of it."

"Oh, Patrick," his mother says, rubbing the tears off his cheeks with the palms of her hands. "No, you didn't make any mess. Lord Toews has offered a match, and he's willing to wait until you're sixteen."

Patrick blinks, the sobs catching in his throat. He twists out of his mother's arms and stares at her, rubbing his fists over his eyes. "He did?"

"He did, dear," his mother says. "You did so well, I'm so proud."

"Oh my god," Patrick whispers. 

"He wants to have a proper courtship, of course - so he will visit every month, and you'll spend a day each time in his company."

"Every month," Patrick repeats, dazed.

"Yes, once a month," his mother says, smiling. "So be good, and take a bath, and clean your face up. You'll have to look good all the time now, for the duke."

\---

Jonny does appear on the first day of every month, as arranged, and always brings a little gift for Patrick. Once it's a little sculpture of a bird in flight, handcarved from light teak, and with emeralds for eyes; another time it's a simple ruby nestled in a box of velvet, as large as an acorn, polished and cut to a clear, flawless red shine. Jonny showers him with so many expensive things - rare jewels, silks brought from China, handpainted porcelain minatures - that it quite embarrasses Patrick, but each time he tries to decline a gift, Jonny presses it into his hands and insists. "I want you enjoying my presents, because there's no one else whom I'll give these too," he says, and smiles when Patrick stammers his thanks.

On his fourteenth birthday, Jonny takes him out on a carriage ride in the afternoon, before the start of the ball his family are throwing for him in the evening. It's the first time Patrick's been allowed out of the grounds of his manor alone with Jonny; but all he feels is excitement when he climbs into the sumptuous carriage. It's been seven months, and he _knows_ Jonny now; he's not as terrified around him anymore.

Jonny climbs in and settles himself in the seat opposite Patrick while Patrick busies himself with looking around, at the gold-trimmed fittings and the seats upholstered in cream leather. There's the crest of the House of Toews embroidered on the backs of each seat.

Patrick sits back as the horses set off at a slow trot, and draws the curtain over the little glass window in the side of the carriage to look out. "Where are we going?" he asks.

"We'll just take a short ride down to the river and back," Jonny answers. "When the weather's better, we'll have a stroll along the river - but it's too cold now in November."

"It isn't my fault that I'm born so late in the year," Patrick says, a little more tartly than he means to, but Jonny just laughs.

"No, it isn't, but it makes it harder to wait till you turn sixteen," he replies.

Patrick can feel his face burn, as it does whenever the subject of his marriage is brought up. He turns away to look out of the window, although it's grey and featureless out there, but then Jonny reaches over, and to his shock, he cups his cheek in his hand. It's warm and rough and _big_ , the thumb slowly caressing over Patrick's soft skin, and Patrick feels a jolt low in his stomach. It's the first time Jonny's touched any part of him other than his arm, apart from their first meeting where he had his hands on Patrick's foot.

"You're lovely," Jonny says, low.

Patrick bites his lip. He thinks he ought to thank Jonny, because he's been brought up to be polite, but all he can do is stay frozen with Jonny's hand on his cheek and his dark, dark eyes fixed on his face. Patrick can already feel the first signs of himself getting wet, and he stiffens. There's no way to hide the scent of his arousal in the enclosed carriage, no way at all.

As if Jonny knows what he's thinking, he snatches his hand away so fast, it's as if he's been burned. "I'm sorry," he says right away. "I shouldn't have - that wasn't right. I didn't mean to."

Patrick hesitates, and then, as if his brain's moving before his mouth does, he blurts out, "Didn't mean to - what?"

He knows he's flaming red even as he speaks, and he casts his eyes down to his hands, twisting them nervously in his lap.

"Didn't mean to touch you like that. I just - you're still so young."

"Is it because you can - _smell_ me?" Patrick says. His brain's still sending all the wrong signals to his mouth, because right after he says that, he covers his face despairingly. "No, don't - don't say anything, don't answer it."

There's a sigh from Jonny; and then a soft thud, and Jonny's tugging his hands down. He's kneeling before Patrick again, and it's both so horrifyingly incongruous and so reminiscent of their first meeting that he doesn't know if he wants to rear back or fold himself into Jonny's arms.

"I can smell you," Jonny says in a low voice, and Patrick gasps because right on cue, his body gives up a tiny burst of slick, and the scent of his slick ratchets up.

"Don't be scared," Jonny says, holding his hands tightly, as if he's afraid Patrick's going to bolt like a startled rabbit. If he hadn't been in a carriage, he probably would have. "I just keep forgetting - we're betrothed, and it's normal - you must have been taught that it is, right? For a young omega, in close proximity with an alpha - "

"Jonny," Patrick says, his face burning, trying not to squirm in his pants.

"I won't do anything to you, I _promise_ , I won't dishonour you like that - but Patrick, you're so lovely, and I keep forgetting I can't touch you improperly or you'll be - uncomfortable. I'm quite sorry about this."

"It's not your fault," Patrick whispers finally, when he thinks he's got his voice back. Jonny's still kneeling before him, looking and smelling hopeful, and when Patrick speaks, his scent softens back to his usual dark spice and frost.

"You really are so beautiful," Jonny says, looking up at Patrick as if he's completely drunk on the sight of him. "I'd kiss you, if I could, but - I have a gift for you, for now - "

He's turning away from Patrick, presumably to rummage in his coat which he's flung over his seat, but Patrick gathers up whatever courage he has, and reaches out for him. He grabs Jonny by the lapels, his fists scrunching the perfectly starched fabric.

Jonny turns back and blinks at him.

"You can kiss me," Patrick whispers. He feels jittery, like he's about to shake out of his skin, but also bold and bright and excited. He's breathing hard, and Jonny's scent fills his nose and makes him feel lightheaded with it.

Jonny is much older than he is, so it's clear he knows exactly what he's doing when he recovers his wits much faster than Patrick would have, kneels up, and curls a hand around the back of Patrick's neck.

Almost immediately Patrick goes weak; he would have fallen if he wasn't sitting, and he's nothing more than putty in Jonny's hands when Jonny tilts his head gently, and kisses him.

It feels like someone's lit a fire in the base of his spine. The warmth spreads up, up, over his face, his neck where Jonny's got his hand on it, and to his mouth, where Jonny's slowly licking over the seam of his lips. Jonny takes control of the kiss right away; his other hand comes up to grasp the side of Patrick's face, almost in the same way he'd cupped his cheek earlier, and tilts him a little more into an angle he wants. He squeezes Patrick's neck, and Patrick gasps, his mouth falling open, and Jonny licks right in.

Patrick feels a little spurt of wetness coming on, and he tries to pull away from Jonny, but Jonny's having none of it, and holds him steady as they kiss. Patrick's helpless to do anything but let Jonny pull him onto the floor of the carriage, into his lap, where he sits balanced on Jonny's thick thighs.

Jonny rubs his hand up and down Patrick's spine, in a manner Patrick's sure is meant to be soothing, but instead it just makes him wetter. He's burning with the shame of it, cocooned on an alpha's lap and kissing him, but at the same time he's betrothed to Jonny, and he ought to be allowed this much, right? When they'll be doing much more on their wedding night?

So Patrick ends up spending the afternoon of his fourteenth birthday kissing his alpha for forty minutes on the floor of a carriage; when they return to the manor, Patrick's nearly soaked through his pants, and has to have a bath and a change of clothes. 

When his valet comes to draw Patrick's bath, he smiles knowingly as he collects the dirty clothes. "Did he touch you?" he asks, and the only reason Patrick lets him get away with it is because Nicholas is a beta and has been his valet since he was eight.

"No," Patrick lies. His lips are still sore and swollen, and he licks them unconsciously.

"You didn't let him knot you, did you?" Nick says, not at all fooled.

" _No_ ," Patrick says emphatically. "I'm not a harlot - we just kissed! That's all."

Nick grins. "He's a good alpha," is all he says, before he exits the bathroom.

\---

Jonny's _real_ gift for him is a delicate necklace of hammered gold, with a diamond pendant in the shape of a J. It's so bright that Patrick blinks against it when Jonny takes it out and hooks it around his neck, the facets catching and reflecting brilliant beams of light from the blazing chandeliers.

"Thank you," he says.

Jonny runs his fingers down the chain of the necklace, his fingertips skimming over Patrick's collarbone, and smiles down at him. "You'll have much more when we're married," he promises, and Patrick can't do anything but nod and duck his head, face flaming.

\---

The wedding is planned for April, six months after Patrick's sixteenth birthday, but Patrick wakes up one morning in December feeling warm and feverish.

It's cold and snowing outside and Patrick's been confined to the manor, so he thinks it's a combination of restlessness and the beginnings of a cold. He's sulking next to the fireplace in his room when his mother comes in.

"I'm ill," Patrick informs her, and rolls a little way away from the fire, because he's starting to perspire.

His mother puts a hand on his forehead. "You do seem to have a fever - I'll get the cook to make you some broth for it."

Patrick's irritable and frustrated the rest of the day - it's sleeting outside the warmth of his room, but he feels unseasonably hot. He ends up stripping everything off and dressing in only a thin silk shift, one he usually wears for bed in the heat of summer, and spends the day in bed kicking at his quilts until they're on the floor, because he's so _warm_.

He tosses and turns in his sleep that night, and jerks awake at dawn to a dream of Jonny standing between his legs, hands on his thighs, spreading them open so he can slide his cock in; when he wakes up, his sheets are sticky and wet with slick, and he's perspiring so much he can see the gleam of sweat on his body.

Worse, though, is the bone-deep, aching need he feels deep in his belly, and the way his hole is clenching on nothing. He kneels up so he can rub his fingers over his hole, and gasps at the way it greedily clamps down on his fingertips; it's so wet that he can feel slick dripping down his hand and inner thighs. The room is suffocatingly hot now, oppressive in its sticky heat, and Patrick freezes at the thought.

He's never been in heat - he knows he's about due for his first heat, but his alpha's supposed to be with him for it. He ought to have been married, and constantly being around his alpha would have brought it on, but now - now he _knows_ his heat's coming on, and Jonny isn't here. Jonny is miles away, in his country manor, and he needs - 

The door opens and Nick enters, but the smile on his face drops away once he sees Patrick, kneeling in the middle of his bed, soaked through with sweat and slick, and the scent of his heat rising rapidly.

"Oh god, Patrick," he says.

"Get my mother," Patrick orders. His voice sounds slow and raspy to his ears, as if the words are having difficulty travelling through the thick, soupy air around him. "And tell her to get Jonny, now."

"But - "

"Now, Nick!" Patrick says, and Nick goes flying out of the room as if the hounds of hell are after him.

\---

His mother keeps coming to him to check on him and sponge his hot face and neck, but he turns away each time. "Jonny," he whimpers once at her, twisting away and trying not to touch himself in front of her.

"He's coming," his mother says softly. "You're doing so good, sweetheart - he'll be here soon."

"When?" Patrick croaks. He's lost all sense of time since his heat started, but it feels like _weeks_ , even though he knows it can't be. He's close to crying, he's so desperate for Jonny.

"Very soon," his mother promises. "He'll be here before you know it."

Patrick feels the tears begin to prickle behind his eyelids, because what even is _soon_? It could be an hour, it could be days, and Patrick doesn't know if he can survive the next five minutes in this crippling need. "I need -" he manages, and then dissolves into full blown sobs.

"Oh, baby," his mother says. "I'm so sorry - we thought your heat wouldn't come till you were married to Jonathan, and it's so early." She brushes his hair back and kisses his forehead. "Try to sleep before he gets here."

Patrick turns away. He doesn't want to sleep - he wants Jonny here, right now, fucking him, and just the thought of that makes his hole spasm a little and gush another trail of slick.

His mother leaves, then, after promising once more that Jonny will arrive soon, and Patrick's free to shove three fingers deep into himself, sobbing both at the momentary relief and the need still burning in him.

\---

Patrick has no idea how much time passes, but he's deep in his heat and half out of his mind with desperation when the door slams open hard and Jonny stalks in. He's breathing hard and flushed red, as if he's run all the way, and there's snow in his hair and on his clothes, but all Patrick can think about is the way his thighs look in his tight riding breeches, thick and muscled, and the way he smells, all frosty and hard and spicy. Then his mind snaps back into place, because his alpha's here. Jonny made it.

He whines and holds his arms out, and Jonny slams the door shut and locks it with a audible click. Then he's striding over to Patrick, lifting him like he weighs nothing and tucking his face into his sweaty neck, taking deep breaths of his heatscent.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I took too long - I should have been here."

Patrick whines again - he wants to tell Jonny to fuck him, _now_ , but he's gone completely nonverbal. He can't make his mouth shape the words.

"I'm sorry," Jonny says again, and when he lifts his head from Patrick, his eyes are dark and glazed over. He looks and smells so good Patrick wants to cry. "I'm going to - can you turn over for me, darling?"

Patrick's shaky, but he manages to roll over on his stomach and raise himself on his elbows and knees, Jonny holding his hips. He lifts his ass as high as he can, presenting himself to Jonny, and closes his eyes at the sharp intake of breath from Jonny behind him. At least he's not the only one feeling desperate, because Jonny's scent spikes into fiery, dark spice, jagged around the edges with need.

"God," Jonny breathes, and then his hands are spreading Patrick open, exposing his wet, dripping hole. "You're so beautiful."

Patrick feels him rub a thumb over his hole, and he jerks back into the touch, gasping. He finds his voice somehow, and manages to say, "Now, please. Want you now." His throat feels parched, raw; his words come out as nothing more than guttural low sounds, but Jonny understands him.

"I know," he says, "but it's your first time, I can't just - need to get you ready first, love."

He slips two fingers into Patrick as he speaks; he's so wet that they slide right in, no resistance at all, and Patrick makes a little high-pitched noise in his throat, because - it's so good. He's spent the last god-knows-how-long fingering himself, and it's never felt as good as his alpha's fingers.

He pushes back on Jonny, trying to show him he's ready, but Jonny just tightens his grip on his hip, and pulls his fingers out. Patrick's ready to sob, but he pushes them back in, three this time, fanning them open just a little bit inside him, as if he's testing whether Patrick's ready for him.

"I'm ready," Patrick tries to say, but Jonny must come to that conclusion at the same time, because Patrick can hear the rasp of fabric as Jonny undoes the buttons of his breeches and pulls them open.

He cranes his neck to try to get a look - and Jonny's still dressed, breeches pooled around his knees, but his cock is jutting out, hard and thick and _big_. He can see the bulge at the base of his cock where his knot's going to form. Patrick's going to get that inside him, and as if his body approves, he squirts a little gush of slick, right on cue. 

"Oh god - fuck," Jonny swears as the trails of slick begin dripping down his thighs, and then he's gathering it up on his fingers and slicking up his cock with it. He grasps Patrick's hips again, his slick-slippery fingers sliding a little, and then he gently knees Patrick's thighs further apart. "Brace up for it, love." 

Patrick does as he's told, even though he doesn't really know _how_ , but he feels Jonny fit the head of his cock at his hole, and then he pushes in.

It's like every nerve in his body lights up immediately, just from the feel of Jonny's thick cock prying him open. He's a virgin, but his heat makes it so easy for them, Jonny sliding in to the root on one thrust, until Patrick can feel his thighs press up against his ass. Patrick shifts his hips a little, experimentally, and Jonny groans behind him.

"No, baby," he says. "If you do that I'm going to knot you far too soon. You smell amazing."

Patrick doesn't know why Jonny knotting him soon is a bad thing - from where he is, it seems like it'd be a _very good_ thing - but he stops moving obediently. Now that Jonny's here and inside him, the wild, frantic need has eased somewhat, and he feels more coherent now than he's been for ages. He wants to be good for his alpha.

Jonny leans down so he can lick a stripe right up Patrick's spine, breathing hard as he goes, and the change in position makes his cock slip out a little. Patrick whines again, he can't help it, and pushes backwards, trying to get it back in him, where it belongs.

Jonny laughs breathlessly. "I'm here, baby," he says; Patrick can feel him shifting around back there, and fists his hands in the sheets, waiting. "I'll give you what you need - yes, that's it, you're doing so well."

He fucks back in properly, filling Patrick up until he can't breathe; and then he settles into a steady rhythm, pushing in and out of Patrick, and it's an entirely new sensation, having a strong alpha hold him steady and fuck the little noises out of him. But at the same time it's so _good_ , Jonny filling him up like he needs, and it's all Patrick can do to bear down on the inescapable feeling of Jonny's cock fucking him wide and open, dragging out trails of slick with every pull out. Patrick can't imagine how he looks, but it has to be completely obscene, his hole wet and dripping for Jonny and stretched tight around his big cock.

Jonny's hand finds its way underneath him to lift him upright; he seats Patrick in his lap, speared on his cock, and slides his hand down to his lower belly, pressing gently against it. "Good?" Jonny asks, and pushes his thighs open even wider, so all Patrick can do is sink down even more on his cock, gasping as it drives right in. He brings his fist to his mouth so he can bite on his knuckles; it's good, it's so good, and he can't even speak to tell Jonny how good he's fucking him.

Jonny tugs his hand gently away from his mouth instead. "Don't hurt yourself," he says, and then slides two fingers into Patrick's mouth. They're sticky with slick, and taste of honey and musk, and Patrick sucks greedily, gratefully.

Jonny's fucking him again, but this time he's got his chest pressed against Patrick's back, and all the skin contact is exactly what he needs. He goes limp in Jonny's hold, just lets Jonny use him, while he focuses on the pleasure sparking in him, on Jonny's thick alpha scent, dark and edged with satisfaction.

"You're so wet," Jonny murmurs into his ear, and noses his way down his neck, licking as he goes. "So wet for me." He bites gently into the meat of Patrick's shoulder, and Patrick shudders. He can feel it too, the way his slick leaks out around the thickness of Jonny's cock, and the wet squelching they make together. "I'll make you feel so good, fill you up and keep it inside you with my knot. Make you big and round with my babies."

And oh - god, Patrick hadn't even thought about it, but of course he'll be expected to produce heirs once he's married; and with him in heat now, he'll very likely finish his heat pregnant, but all of a sudden it's all he wants.

"Yes," he says hoarsely, reaching down to grasp the hand Jonny has on his belly. "Please, Jonny, I need - "

"I'll give it to you," Jonny promises, and fucks in harder, impossibly deep. "That's it, darling, take it, I'm very nearly there." His other hand rubs over Patrick's chest, palm catching on his nipple, stiff and sensitive, before he flicks over it gently with his thumb. "God, you're beautiful. So responsive and good."

Patrick moans, and feels himself squeeze down on Jonny's cock, all the muscles in his body tensing up tight.

"Yes, that's it," Jonny says again, and squeezes his nipple at the same time as he thrusts in deep, and Patrick's entire world whites out.

He's had orgasms before, of course; he's a young omega, curious about how his body works, and he's fingered himself enough times, but it's never been like this: this all-consuming, electrifying pleasure that turns his bones to mush and makes his vision turn white. He has no idea what sounds he's making, but he's jerking in Jonny's arms as his cock spurts onto their joined hands on his belly; and Jonny's nuzzling his neck and making pleased noises, his smell swimming thick around Patrick, while his hole squeezes tight on Jonny's cock and he's gushing so much slick, he can feel himself sloshing wet inside.

"You feel so good," Jonny breathes against the neck of his skin. "Bear down tighter on me, Patrick, you'll milk it out of me."

Patrick tries; but the waves of his climax are still washing over him, and when Jonny shoves in deep one last time and groans, he's still coming on Jonny's cock, flood after flood of slick leaking from him. But then he feels it - the swelling at the base of Jonny's cock, just inside of his rim, and it's _growing_.

"It's okay, darling," Jonny says, panting, his hands tightening on Patrick, as if he's afraid Patrick's going to run. As if Patrick would - his body's straining for this. "You can take this, I know you can, I'm going to fuck the heat right out of you, give you a baby - "

He's swelling in quick increments, and Patrick's eyes begin watering as his knot begins stretching the rim of his hole tight and taut. It hurts, because Patrick's not used to being stretched so far and fast; but at the same time it feels _incredible_. 

Patrick tries to move, but he can't - he's stuck on Jonny's knot, and Jonny's not even done growing. His knot catches him just right inside, and before he knows it he's rearing back, trying to push himself down on it. 

Jonny reaches between his cheeks to slide his finger around his hole, where it's stretched so wide to accommodate his knot, and Patrick comes again, moaning and sobbing, his hole locking around Jonny's knot filling him so full.

Jonny comes at the same moment, growling and going still inside Patrick, and Patrick can feel him come a second later, his cock pulsing inside him and spurting hot come that adds to the wetness already in Patrick.

He drops Patrick to the bed and then drops down after him, lying on him like a dead weight, both of them breathing hard.

It takes a couple of minutes before Jonny lifts himself off Patrick; his knot's still swollen inside, but god, it feels good, every little movement he makes tugging at Patrick's rim and working his knot inside. "Are you all right, sweetheart?" Jonny asks, stroking down Patrick's back. "I'm sorry, you'll be uncomfortable for a while, but - "

"Not uncomfortable," Patrick rasps. He can feel Jonny pulsing in him each time he comes, spurting deep inside him, and his heat's sated, but still raging. "Jonny, I need more - please - "

Jonny groans, but he doesn't sound exasperated. "You'll be the death of me," he says, but he's lifting Patrick into his lap at the same time, carefully positioning him so he's supported by Jonny's thighs, knees on either side of them. "What do you need, my love? Take what you need from me."

And - Patrick doesn't know _how_ , but he lets his instincts and his heat take over, and starts rocking himself gently on Jonny's knot, while Jonny reaches up and slides his hands over his stomach, his chest, pinching gently at his nipples. Jonny's so big that he's pressing on all the right parts inside Patrick, eased by all their slick and come, and it doesn't take long for Patrick to come once more, sobbing Jonny's name and rocking on his knot and letting it light him up.

He comes a third time rolling his hips on Jonny's knot like that, completely desperate for it, before Jonny's knot goes down enough for him to pull gently out of Patrick. Patrick shudders a little as he goes, his rim sore and puffy, and a literal flood of come and slick goes with Jonny's cock, gushing out of his fucked-open hole and dripping down his legs, puddling on Jonny's thighs and the bedsheets.

"Oh god," Patrick says, torn between wanting to hide his face in shame and wanting more from Jonny. He's coming back to himself now, feeling less hot and frantic, but his heat's still not done.

Jonny hesitates, but then he pushes three fingers back inside Patrick, and Patrick melts into it, despite the soreness. "Do you need more?" he asks, and Patrick nods.

"You're hurting, aren't you?"

"Not really," Patrick says. "I - just a little, but Jonny, I still need - "

"I know, I'll give it to you," Jonny soothes; and the next thing Patrick knows is Jonny pulling his fingers out of his hole, which makes him whine. "No, baby, I'm right here," Jonny adds, and then he shifts them around so he's lying on the bed, Patrick straddling his stomach.

"Come up here," Jonny says. Patrick blinks.

Jonny reaches out and tugs at him until he kneewalks up the bed, until his knees are on either side of Jonny's head and he's hovering uncertainly over him, hands gripping the headboard. "What are you - " he begins, and Jonny chuckles between his thighs.

"You smell so good, you know?" Jonny says, turning his head to press a kiss to the soft, smooth inside of Patrick's thigh, and then making Patrick jump a little when he licks at the trail of slick running down it. "I could stay here forever, between your legs, just looking at your pretty little hole and smelling the scent of your slick."

"Jonny," Patrick says, face burning. But Jonny just pulls him closer, until his legs are splayed wide and he's hovering just above Jonny's face.

"Don't be embarrassed, my love," he says. "We're going to be married."

They're not even married yet, Patrick wants to say, but the words die in his throat when Jonny spreads his cheeks open, and licks right over his wet hole.

Patrick shoots up straight, and clamps his hands over the headboard so tight his knuckles turn white.

"Relax for me," Jonny says, and then his mouth is back, sealing over Patrick's hole, working the tip of his tongue into it. Patrick's body decides to leak more slick at the moment, and Patrick can feel Jonny sucking over it, licking up his wetness. It makes him tremble, the way Jonny's so greedy for his body.

Jonny keeps him on his mouth until he's fairly dripping with it and begging for more, grinding down onto Jonny's tongue; and then Jonny licks into him, as deep as he can go, and Patrick comes again, shaking apart in Jonny's big hands, his hole spasming around Jonny's tongue and spilling into his mouth.

When Jonny pulls away and looks up at him, he's smiling, and the entire lower half of his face is shiny and gleaming with Patrick's slick. Patrick blushes, and tries not to show how much he likes the sight of that, even though it ought to be dirty and improper.

Jonny just smirks. "Do you want more?" he asks, and Patrick bites his lip.

"You can tell me," Jonny says. "I'm your husband."

"We're not married yet," Patrick says, looking away from his dark searching eyes.

"But we will be. And you'll be carrying my baby by then, I'll make sure of it."

Patrick wants to hide his face in his arms, but there's nowhere to go; and besides, a thick drop of slick drips out of him just then, and splashes nicely on Jonny's lips. Jonny's barely fazed, just licks his lips, and Patrick's caught by that moment his tongue's gleaming with the thick clear fluid.

"I'm going to die," he says weakly. "I really am."

Jonny smiles. "You're nowhere near there, my love. I'll take care of you," he promises, and lowers Patrick on to his face again.

\---

They spend the next three days fucking, only stopping when Jonny makes him so he can fetch food for them both. The sheets are filthy with come, slick and sweat, but Patrick likes it because it smells like them. He could happily spend the rest of his days in the bed, just breathing in his and Jonny's intermingled scents.

But his heat finally fades in three days; he's riding Jonny's fingers when the last fiery feverishness of it dies off, and he finds his head clear for the first time in ages. Jonny keeps him on his four fingers, fucking in and out of him, until he comes one last time: a weak orgasm that makes him shiver as his cock comes dry, and then he collapses next to Jonny, trying to catch his breath.

Jonny tucks him close against his chest and holds him until his breathing evens out. "Feeling better?" he asks.

"Much," Patrick says. His voice is still hoarse, and he hides his face in Jonny's chest, trying not to think of all the times he was screaming Jonny's name, yelling his pleasure, making his throat raw like this.

Jonny, for his part, nuzzles into him and sniffs him, taking great heaping breaths, as if he hadn't smelled Patrick enough over the past few days. "You smell so good," he rumbles. "You smell even better now that you're pregnant."

Patrick jerks away from him, blinking up at him, utterly bewildered. "I'm not - how can I be?"

"You are," Jonny assures him. "I can smell it." He noses down Patrick's body, down to his chest, around his nipples, sore and swollen with the marks of Jonny's teeth, and then onwards to his belly, where he stays, nose pressed to the skin and inhaling. "You're having our baby. I'm so proud of you."

He lifts his head then to look directly at Patrick, his smile lighting up his entire face, creasing his eyes at the corners, and he's so handsome it's almost hard for Patrick to look at him. "Thank you," he says, and it's just - Patrick ought to be the one thanking him, for marrying him, for all the power and riches he'll bring to Patrick's family, for being kind and considerate and loving, when he could have been married to an alpha who's none of that.

Instead, all he manages to say is, "Am I really?"

"Really," Jonny says, and rubs a big hand gently over his stomach, where - if Jonny's right - he's growing a tiny little life inside him.

Patrick's so overwhelmed he can't speak. All he can do is curl up into Jonny's arms and cling on to him like he's a lifeline.

\---

Four months later, on a bright spring day in April, Patrick walks up the aisle of the beautiful stone church on Jonny's own lands in Manitoba, with its stained glass windows and 600-year-old stone bell tower. He's trembling in his white suit, cut close to hug his hips and waist, thickening and swelling with the baby, but when he steps up to the altar, Jonny's right there, taking his hand and looking at him with so much love in his eyes, Patrick can't stop looking at him.

The priest drones on and on, but all Patrick can see is Jonny, smiling at him, and his hand clasped reassuringly over Patrick's.

Jonny only turns away when the priest asks if he's willing to take Patrick as his lawfully bonded omega. "I do," he says, and his voice rings soundly out over the assembled guests, waiting in silence.

"And you, Mr. Kane? Will you take Lord Jonathan Toews as your lawfully bonded alpha, to love, honour and cherish?"

Patrick breathes in, deep, and clutches Jonny's hand tighter, letting it ground him. "I do," he says, loud and clear.


End file.
